


Three Days

by beehoony



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Romance, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Prologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:22:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3498251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beehoony/pseuds/beehoony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sole survivor of the explosion lies unconscious and she may have the answers that they need, even if she raises more questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Days

The first day

* * *

 The Conclave was due to start at dawn, but it was perhaps two hours after midnight that he rose from fitful dreams and pulled on his armour. As he headed down towards the smithy, he noted that much of the village was still dark and most of the fires in the camp outside had burned down to embers. He took his time working the edge of his sword; he had little enough to occupy himself until he was needed. There was the odd shout from the tavern, but apart from that the only sounds were the whetstone and the wind. Snow drifted gently, burying the paths to the temple. It would be a long, cold walk.

He roused from his reverie when the singing started. The Revered Mothers and the sisters were praying for the Conclave’s success, and it was time for him to prepare for its failure.

* * *

She almost lost her footing for the third time in half a mile; Maker’s balls, but she hated ice and mud. She wrapped her jacket more tightly around her as the wind picked up, pulling her scarf up around her ears. Theoretically she shouldn’t be frostbitten this quickly, but her ears were burning. A soldier nodded politely at her and she awkwardly avoided eye contact for the long minute it took to actually pass him after she had offered a tight-lipped smile of acknowledgment. She felt like a race horse champing at the bit as she shuffled along behind every elderly arthritic mage in Thedas, simultaneously impatient and ashamed of how unkind she could be.

She was surprised by how many Chantry soldiers there were; replacements for the templars, perhaps? Would they be able to dampen magic? Not that it mattered. She had never tested herself against a templar and had no desire to. If it came to open fighting…but that’s why they were so conspicuously present.

It wasn’t just the cold that made her shiver.

* * *

He found Cassandra and Leliana just outside the Chantry. Leliana was absently stroking one of her ravens, which fluffed its feathers and squawked at Cullen, turning to watch him with a beady red eye. Cassandra was grinding her teeth when she was not pacing.

"The troops are in position?"

"Yes. My scouts have reported that all is calm for the moment."

"If anything should happen at the Conclave, we should expect trouble here too. We should have closed the tavern last night.”

Leliana shrugged. "The ones who drink enough won't be an issue. I may also have ensured that the ale was sufficiently...relaxing."

"We still don't have the numbers to control potential situations both at the Conclave and in Haven." Cassandra turned on her heel again, churning a furrow in front of the tent. “We should be with her, Leliana. What if—“

"We've done what we can. All we can do now is trust in the Most Holy and pray."

* * *

Her uncle nodded at her as she climbed the stairs to where the mages were seated. He had had words with the Ostwick Knight-Commander who had succeeded him years ago, and apparently he still wielded enough influence over the man to receive an invite to the Conclave. She had a feeling that her uncle's sudden return to Ostwick from the White Spire had been controversial, but he sat with his templar brethren with no apparent concern.

The Second Enchanter prodded her in the back when she passed the central seats but Evelyn kept moving; Carla had been very pointed in her directions that they should seek to be heard by the Divine and that they should pick their seats accordingly. Ostwick was an example! Behold how they had stood against the chaos. The First Enchanter had taken Evelyn aside afterwards to gently remind her that no one really gave two shits about Ostwick. Most people in Ferelden and Orlais did not even know that Ostwick existed. The number of people who had asked her politely, "Ah, where is that?", was proof of that.

The First Enchanter had been clear: keep your heads down, and come home safe. She could live with that.

Silence rippled outwards as the Divine entered through the main doors. Evelyn marvelled at the Most Holy Headdress, which was also the Most Shiny and the Most Vertically Advantaged. The Divine carried herself with grace and poise, straight-backed despite her age and remarkable hat.

Every eye was on the Divine (the power of hats!). She raised her hands in that generic gesture of inclusion. "Brothers, sisters. I welcome you to the Conclave."

Someone jeered, "No templar is a brother of mine!"

Evelyn slowly slid downwards in her seat as the shouting began. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

She was a little impressed by how long people could keep saying the same things over and over without realising or caring that no one was listening.

And in amongst the clamour, she could hear something—

A booming voice echoed through the temple. “Now is our moment. Seize her.”

The world exploded into light and sound and Evelyn blocked it out kept it away fights the green light with her own the sound of tearing and she is falling 

* * *

The short winter dusk was at its end and there was still no signs of trouble. He felt weary even though he had done nothing all day but wait, counting the chimes of the Chantry bell as it tolled the hour. The tavern was as busy as ever; anyone who was not important enough to be at the Conclave was having their dinner there. He left well before it filled up; the hollow laughter made the underlying tension even worse. Instead, he wandered down towards the training yards, wondering if he would find the Seeker taking her frustration out on a dummy.

He felt the magical energies surge past, making his hair stand on end just an instant before the explosion shook the town. Before he opened his eyes to the settling ash and snow, he was back in Kirkwall, listening to the wailing as people trickled towards the ruin of the Chantry. There would be more charred corpses for them to recover and bury without ever knowing who they were laying to rest. He looked up at the green breach in the sky with a sick knot in his stomach, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword (when had he drawn it?). He did not need lyrium-enhanced senses to feel the sheer amount of magic pouring through into this world. That could mean but one thing; the Veil was torn and demons were coming. There were too many mages here. He headed to the Chantry, fighting his rising dread. They would need answers, and he would need templars before hell broke loose again. He would not make the same mistakes that he had in Kirkwall.

* * *

The first squad had made it to the temple with only the occasional demon encounter, but Cullen had ordered them to investigate the area and establish a camp nearby before returning. He was fairly certain that took more than five hours, but here they were.

"You're telling me that a woman fell out of a rift." Cullen had previously believed that Benson was a stolid, reliable man. But then again, he had also agreed with Meredith about mages. So much for age bringing wisdom.

"Yes, sir." The sergeant was a burly man, but he seemed to shrink a little as Leliana, Cassandra and Cullen glared at him. "There was also another woman behind her, but the rift closed before she could get out."

"Where is she now?" Cassandra demanded. "She must be tied to what happened at the Conclave."

"I will take you to her, Lady Seeker. Er. There also seems to be something on her hand. Some sort of green light comes out every so often."

* * *

The soldiers had taken her to the town apothecary, a gruff man who peeled back her eyelids and took her pulse rather ungently. "She's not long for this world, much like the rest of us."

Cassandra ordered her clapped in irons immediately, which seemed excessive given that she hadn't even flinched when her eyelids were being pinched. Clad in a plain wool jacket, breeches and boots; neither Chantry sister nor templar then, so either a lay sister, mage (unlikely, most of those who attended had been wearing their finest robes) or a spy. Whenever the Breach outside thundered, sickly green light flared between her fingers.

"We must speak to her." Leliana folded her arms when the apothecary's bushy eyebrows knit.

"I'm no healer. I'll do what I can, but don't get your hopes up." Not many people could meet Leliana's dagger gaze for long. Cullen was suitably impressed. "Get out of my hair. I have work to do if the girl is to live." 

Cullen had to stifle a laugh at that, but did not comment. He could have meant his beard.

Rumours of the sole survivor of the Conclave spread through Haven like wildfire, and the crowd gathered outside seemed like a mix of the curious and the angry. An angry murmur went through the crowd as the soldiers carried the survivor out in chains, heading towards the Chantry's cells. 

An enchanter lurked hopefully, quickly approaching them when the crowd around them thinned, following the soldiers. He looked like he would bolt if they made any sudden movements, and most of the whites of his eyes were showing. “Lady Seeker—is it true that woman came out of a rift?” At her curt nod, he continued. “That mark on her hand. It’s thrumming with magic that feels like nothing I have ever encountered. And it’s powerful.”

“Study it then. Tell me everything you discover.”

His eyes widened further. “I—I don’t know that I will be much use. But if you will it, I shall try.”

* * *

The second day

* * *

 The elf leaned on his staff, face calm and impassive despite the hostility in the air. Cullen recognised him from the tavern; he had been sitting alone, silently eating his dinner. The townsfolk had given him a wide berth. Associating with apostates was not something anyone wanted to be accused of at a time like this.

"You claim to know of the Breach?"

"From this distance, no more than any mage could tell you. But I wish to study it, and any rifts that appear, for we must find a way to close them. I have seen much of the Fade in my travels, and I know more of it than any Circle mage. This Breach threatens all, and I would help close it if you would have me."

They took Solas to her after he examined the rift outside the forward camp. He rolled her sleeve up; Cullen was shocked to see cracks of green light under her skin, growing up her arm past her elbow. "She will die when it reaches her heart," the elf had said in a dispassionate voice, and Cullen believed him. "The mark and the rifts seem to be connected; we must keep her alive. Allow me some time to stabilise her mark, and then I will go to the nearest rift and try to close it by any means I can. After all, she may still die and even this lead will be lost."

Before Solas had appeared, he had not been convinced either way of the prisoner's guilt. Now it was becoming all too convenient; a mark that no other mage could recognise, that was linked with the rifts, followed by an elven apostate who seemed to think he could exert some control over it.

As the three of them walked out, they exchanged glances. "He will be watched," Leliana said softly.

He didn't have the time to worry about it; the forward camp was under constant assault. The ragtag band of remaining templars, mages, assorted military escorts and their own few soldiers were all dying in the valley. They needed to regroup before the demons picked them off one by one. He set men to digging the trenches, reinforcing the perimeter. He tried to ignore the thunder from the breach in the sky, concentrating on his map of the valley while yet more demons fell to the ground mere miles from them. How did one plan camps, routes, supply lines when it was raining demons? How did he fortify positions when they kept falling behind the lines? His scouts were rounding up the remaining people in the valley and bringing them back to the camp, but too many of them did not return. There was too much ground to cover. They would miss large swathes of it, or none would return at all.

He pointedly ignored Chancellor Roderick for the better part of an hour before he left, the words "Val Royeaux" and "execution" dimly registering. His hand would not tremble in front of the Chancellor, nor would his step falter even if it cost him every last ounce of strength. Fortunately the Chancellor was too caught up in his complaining to notice him fighting back waves of nausea. 

He went to the Chantry late that night, too wound up and too scared to sleep. He rarely left the Fereldan Circle in the Fade, but last night had done so only to find himself back at the forward camp, Uldred awash in green light that pierced his skin and made him scream and scream... 

But enough of that. He would take a moment to recover, and then he would return to the list of their forces thus far. They would be awaiting further instructions come the dawn.

The sole light in the Chantry was the ever burning fire before the altar and a few candles in alcoves which did little but deepen the shadows in the corners. He sat down in one of the dark corners; the light was making his headache worse.

In the candlelit silence, the creak of the door was uncomfortably loud. He guessed two pairs of boots, slapping the floor sometimes toes first, sometimes heels first, in the uncoordinated way of a heavy-footed man trying to move silently. He held his peace; they were up to something.

They made their way to the dungeon, and he followed as quietly as he could, trying not to get too close lest they hear him. Their own footsteps and nervous breathing seemed to cover him well enough.

The gate to the prisoner's cell creaked open: he had ordered it left unlocked, as she had been chained to the wall and both the apothecary and apostate wished to come and go. The apothecary swore as he startled awake. He had been snoring at the prisoner's bedside, quill in hand as he scribbled his observations and her delirious mutterings. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"Out of the way, Adan. We're here for the murderer."

As they reached for their daggers, he drew his sword. "I might say the same of you."

"Knight-C-captain..."

“That is no longer my title.” Cullen smiled unpleasantly at the two men. They had scarves wrapped around their faces but he could see the fear in their eyes well enough. "How strange that two upstanding men of Haven are here at this hour, knives in hand. It's almost as if they were planning something."

"T-they say t-that she killed the Divine, ser."

"Thom? Bert? What do you two think you're playing at? The Lady Seeker ordered me to keep this girl alive, and you want to slit both our throats?"

The prisoner thrashed in her chains, mumbling before becoming still again. He did not break eye contact with the men.

"W-we..."

"I would put those daggers away, if I were you." They did so and he sheathed his sword, although he kept his hand on his pommel. "Now, why don't you tell me who is it that says that the survivor is responsible for the explosion?"

"Chancellor Roderick, ser."

Maker preserve him, he would belt the wretch the next time he saw him. The Maker may see fit to try his patience in such a way, but the Chancellor was playing dangerous games and his job was difficult enough without such complications.

"Shut up! It wasn't him, we just assumed..."

"Assumptions are dangerous, my friends. Why don't you return to your homes and get some rest. Report to me in the morning. We could use men with your...enthusiasm."

They bolted up the stairs almost before he had finished speaking. Adan looked at him expectantly. He sighed. "I will stay here until the morning. We will post a guard here with you, two if we can spare the men.”

The girl’s next breath was almost a sob. It seemed the Fade was no kinder to her than it was to him; her face was wet with tears. Something stirred in him, whether it was pity or kinship, and he almost reached out to dry her face. Adan held her lower lip back with his thumb and trickled a few drops of elfroot juice between her teeth. She frowned at the taste; he was making progress indeed.

* * *

The third day

* * *

 

Everything hurt, especially her left hand. Someone kept shouting, whoareyou whoareyou. A calmer voice mumbled as coolness spread through her left hand, pushing back the pain. She tried to answer, my name is Evelyn. Evelyn Trevelyan. Metal clinked, and she remained in darkness.

* * *

They were fighting a losing battle. 

The elf had spent the better part of yesterday throwing spells at a rift, and several men were injured helping him fight off the demons that emerged. Whatever he did made no difference one way or another. He had eventually given up, looking more than a little fatigued and returned to the prisoner for a time. He entertained hopes that she would rouse by today. 

Cullen hoped the elf was right about the prisoner's mark, whether or not she was guilty. Any soldier would have vehemently agreed to withdrawing in the face of an infinite enemy (with the possible exception of the Grey Wardens), but what happened here would be what would happen across Thedas; either they found a way to close the rifts and the Breach, or they died. In the latter case, better get in early to avoid the rush.

* * *

"Evelyn Trevelyan, of the Ostwick Circle, was indeed in attendance. That is assuming she is telling the truth, of course. I'm sure that we could find someone to help us confirm that. I have no other information on her."

"Ostwick? I met a young templar from there yesterday."

"Bring him to her quickly then. She is waking, and we need to know who she is and where her allegiances lie."

* * *

Pain explodes in her left hand again. Her fingers won't listen to her, won't help her press the pain out. Something hard and heavy cuts into her wrists. She fights it, but she still drifts under again.

* * *

She was confirmed to be Lady Evelyn Trevelyan by the young templar who had been part of the escort from Ostwick Circle. The boy had blushed at the sight of the unconscious woman. The cantankerous healer scowled at him and he had fled within seconds of his stammered answer. 

Cullen had followed the boy after both Cassandra and Leliana had given him meaningful glances. He found him strapping on his freshly polished armour at the blacksmith.

"Knight-Captain!" He dropped his breastplate with a clatter as he jumped to his feet.

"I am no longer part of the templars. At ease, soldier. What is your name?"

"Jorne, sir." He was almost vibrating with nerves. The boy was perhaps twenty years of age, bright-eyed and decidedly bushy-tailed. Just looking at him made Cullen feel old.

"Relax, Jorne. I just want you to tell me what you know about Lady Trevelyan."

"Her father is a noble in Ostwick; and most of the templars don't like them much. Her father takes her out of the Circle weekly to attend noble parties and such like. They think it's too much freedom for a mage. Some other families followed suit, and it gets a bit messy at times. Ser."

"What do you mean by ‘messy’?"

"Well, just hard to keep track of them, ser. A lot of the older templars don't like them being out of the tower. And there's talk that her father forced his brother, the former Knight-Commander to leave Ostwick. And the new Knight-Commander is...a hard man. He doesn't like what's going on with all of that but there's pressure from the Chantry to let it be. One of the Revered Mothers is a Trevelyan as well, see. Nothing bad has happened that I know of, but the older templars are just angry, ser." He flushed again. "But she's nice. She doesn't let anyone hurt the Tranquil, mage or templar. She's noble but she hasn't got airs."

"I see." The boy was clearly infatuated with her. As a junior templar, he probably spent all day on guard duty, and watching a pretty face was a way to pass the time.

"I don't know about her throwing fire or what, ser, but in Ostwick, she was a healer. One of the mages once told me that she was the youngest Ostwick mage to pass the Harrowing."

He supposed that he should be grateful that young Jorne was in love with her; he was a wealth of (admittedly biased) information. "Thank you for your help, Jorne. Please let me know if you think there is anything else that we should know about her."

* * *

Roderick had not been far behind the runner, who reported that the prisoner had succeeded in sealing two rifts, the first such success. They were to assault the temple to provide a distraction by Leliana's suggestion. Additionally, the apostate and prisoner both felt that many of the demons would be drawn to her, and they would be better able to deal with greater numbers in the narrow pass. When the runner said that the prisoner requested that the soldiers were careful, he could have laughed. 

Meanwhile, Roderick had heckled him, spittle flying as he squawked about how Leliana and Cassandra had let her decide their course of action. "I demand that you arrest and bring her to Val Royeaux to be executed!" 

He ignored the Chantry brother until he was ready to explode. "You are in no position to make such demands. I do not answer to you, and we have bigger problems, or have you not noticed the demons?"

"That's what the prisoner said too, fools the lot of you. We are going to lose more people, and all for naught! This will be on your heads!"

Cullen unkindly thought that the more Roderick howled, the more he liked the prisoner. The man was a pest, and he suspected that they were right about the demons converging on her. If she wished to take the thick of the fighting head on, she was welcome to it. The squad that had tried to reach the temple using that path had not returned.

But he was nothing if not dutiful, and so they advanced cautiously. The fighting was lighter than he expected, and only a few were lost in the approach. When he had ensured that their path back to the forward camp and Haven were secure, he finally entered the temple, trying not to retch at the smell of burnt flesh. When had all this red lyrium appeared? The crystals reflected his face and it  _sang_  to him. Why endure? Why suffer needlessly? How sweet will that first draught be? Power surging through your veins. You loved it. You loved being strong, able to protect yourself from mages...

He heard the pride demon before he saw it, felt the rumble of its laughter in his chest. He broke into a run, close enough by now to hear the shouting. The men were all firing blindly at it, and he yelled at them to stop, focus on the smaller demons and wraiths. Make sure that the people below didn't get flanked.

He saw it happen too late to shout a warning. A gnarled claw hooked around Leliana's foot and whisked her off her feet as the demon's gangly form unfolded from the ground under her. The claws came down only to clash against a barrier, striking sparks. The demon burst into flame, shrieking as it released Leliana, the barrier closing in around her to protect her from the fire. She grabbed her bow and scrambled away, forgotten by the panicked demon. He followed Leliana's gaze and saw the prisoner awake for the first time, face set with concentration, hand glowing with the same eerie light of the Breach.  

He continued choosing targets for his archers, making sure that the few templars with him kept their flanks clear before he finally allowed them to focus on the towering demon. When it fell to its knees, the prisoner was there again, hands alight as ice crept along its hide. He held his archers back, arrows nocked, until at the prisoner's nod, Cassandra smashed her shield into it at the same instant that twenty arrows did, shattering it to smithereens. 

The rift lay before her, a small vertical tear in the Veil leading from it to the large Breach above. They all were silent, watching Cassandra shout at her to seal it. She was breathing heavily, ill-fitting shoulder plate sliding down her shoulder as she lifted her left hand. The red lyrium's song turned to a scream.

It was all he could do to stay upright as pain lanced through him, but he watched the rift slam shut and a bright light shoot up towards the Breach, sealing the tear as it went. She fell to her knees as the world went white and a shock wave knocked him backwards. The lyrium's song went silent.

He scrambled to his feet and vaulted down to where Cassandra crouched by the prone figure. She was ominously still, and Cassandra had a finger on her throat. There was a tiny flutter of breath as he approached and Cassandra nodded, relief clear on her face. "She lives."

He sent a soldier to get the healers before kneeling by her and gently turning her onto her side. She seemed physically unscathed, but deeply unconscious nonetheless. She was breathing, and there was nothing more he could do for her. He left Cassandra with her and turned his attention to accounting for his men, then to planning the journey back to Haven with the wounded.

* * *

She was pleasantly surprised to wake up in a bed this time, shivering despite the heavy covers over her and the roaring fire. Praise the Maker or whoever else was listening, she was still wearing her clothes. These episodes were starting to unnerve her; she had never so much as fainted before this. Her hand still throbbed, but it was nothing like the pain that had arced through her body before.

There was a pitcher of fresh water on the table, and she found a towel in a cupboard that she dampened and used to wipe her face—surprisingly clean, perhaps someone had already attended to that while she had been unconscious. The thought made her deeply uncomfortable.

The door opened and a woman gasped, dropping something with a crash.


End file.
